This morning my alarm went off at 5:15 a.m. - that's awfully early for a Sunday - and my head was smarting from the weather change that Montana has subjected me to...
At 5:30 a.m. I tossed my feet to the side of the bed, found shirt, pants, jacket, warm socks and shoes and made my way to the door of my neighbor. She and I had a date to meet the sun - and so we went on our way.
We talked while we traveled - discussed her upcoming surgery, enjoyed our warm beverages (my coffee, her green tea) and I drove in the dark Montana morning to Hauser Dam - she had never been.
When we pulled up to the dam, she said to me, "Wait - I need to read you something - it reminds me of you..."
So I listened - and she read:
The Journey by Mary Oliver
I was taken aback and felt blessed at the same time.
Moving 1400+ miles from the home I've known has been liberating, scary, hard - and frankly, the most rewarding thing I've ever done for myself in my entire life. As she and I hiked around the dam this morning we talked about "home" and what that means... I reflected on my mindset made anew by my choices: home is truly where my heart is - and right now - my heart is here in Montana.
Oh, sure, I proudly say I'm a Texan - through and through - but my travels to Germany a few years ago - and then my move to Montana made me realize that a place or destination does not define me - it's my ability to accept the amazing opportunities that have opened for me - and not feel as if my life is pre-designed to be someone for so many other people...
In this move - I've learned to be someone for myself.
I'm often asked by individuals I work with, "But you're children..." I miss them - I miss them all - but I respect their own voice, their own role in their future. My children will need to fail, and they will need to know the feeling of trusting their own voices and decisions - I have faith in all of them. (And I'm proud that they have found their voices... so proud...)
Much love to you in your own journey.
- Simone
At 5:30 a.m. I tossed my feet to the side of the bed, found shirt, pants, jacket, warm socks and shoes and made my way to the door of my neighbor. She and I had a date to meet the sun - and so we went on our way.
We talked while we traveled - discussed her upcoming surgery, enjoyed our warm beverages (my coffee, her green tea) and I drove in the dark Montana morning to Hauser Dam - she had never been.
When we pulled up to the dam, she said to me, "Wait - I need to read you something - it reminds me of you..."
So I listened - and she read:
The Journey by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
...
I was taken aback and felt blessed at the same time.
Moving 1400+ miles from the home I've known has been liberating, scary, hard - and frankly, the most rewarding thing I've ever done for myself in my entire life. As she and I hiked around the dam this morning we talked about "home" and what that means... I reflected on my mindset made anew by my choices: home is truly where my heart is - and right now - my heart is here in Montana.
Oh, sure, I proudly say I'm a Texan - through and through - but my travels to Germany a few years ago - and then my move to Montana made me realize that a place or destination does not define me - it's my ability to accept the amazing opportunities that have opened for me - and not feel as if my life is pre-designed to be someone for so many other people...
In this move - I've learned to be someone for myself.
I'm often asked by individuals I work with, "But you're children..." I miss them - I miss them all - but I respect their own voice, their own role in their future. My children will need to fail, and they will need to know the feeling of trusting their own voices and decisions - I have faith in all of them. (And I'm proud that they have found their voices... so proud...)
Much love to you in your own journey.
- Simone
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